


You Belong to Me

by babykid528



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, New Zealand Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Adult Content, BDSM, Barebacking, Dom/sub, F/M, Femsub, Multi, POV Original Character, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> It's amazing how completely a voice can change. With his next words, Karl goes from giddy to sultry, "Bruce is coming by to play this weekend."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Belong to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [highflyerwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highflyerwings/gifts).



> **A/N:** Really this was written for highflyerwings, who I write all my fic for anymore ;-). I had mentioned how hot dom!Bruce and dom!Karl would be with a sub!OFC on twitter and she told me to write it. Her wish is my command. And my wish too. ;-) I apologize in advance if the second section is cavity inducing.  
> Special thanks to Chrissy for reading through, correcting, and reassuring me throughout the whole process of writing this. And extra special thanks to my beta extraordinaire, Karaokegal, for helping me beat this fic into submission and for always being a really aggressive beta. I couldn't have posted this without either of them! &lt;333
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is made up of nothing but lies. Bruce belongs to himself. Karl belongs to himself. Only the OFC is mine. And the Sinatra lyrics belong to the song "Close to You."

  
It's impossibly early in the morning. You're getting ready for another long day. It's safe to say this is not when you're at your best, which is why you groan petulantly when your phone starts to vibrate across the kitchen counter.

You don't even bother to see who is calling before you answer it.

"Speak!"

You sound every bit as frustrated as you're feeling, but the answering laugh makes you instantly re-evaluate your whole mood.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

Warmth and a certain level of contrition color your voice when you speak again.

"Karl! I'm sorry!"

You can practically hear him smiling.

"Good morning, star shine."

It's your turn to laugh, "Good morning. Or is it evening? Or afternoon... where are you right now?"

He chuckles again, "Actually, that's what I was calling to tell you. I'm in LAX right now, heading toward baggage claim."

"Oh my God!" You say in a rush into the phone. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Karl deadpans.

"You jackass!" You yell, giddy, "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would have taken the day off..."

"I've got a few meetings," he explains, "Some Trek stuff and a couple of other potential projects. I'm going to be tied up all day..."

"Damn." You hope you don't sound quite as deflated as you feel. You add quickly, "I really miss you."

His voice softens on the other end of the line, "I miss you too."

He clears his throat before continuing, "So I guess it's good then that I'm in town for at least the next week."

You go silent.

"Baby?"

"Say it again!" You demand in a rush of breath.

"Baby."

You scoff, "The part before that."

"Oh," He responds coyly. If he were in front of you right now, he'd wink. "I'm in town for at least a week. Some of that's for meetings, but mostly it's because I fucking missed you so much I was on the verge of hiring kidnappers to steal you away for me."

"I fucking love you." It's all you trust yourself to say.

"I love you too. But wait."

"What?" you laugh. The entire outlook on your day is suddenly changed with one little phone call. You're far happier than you usually feel anyone has the right to be at this hour of the morning.

"I'm going to get to the house around 4:30 this afternoon," he explains. "I'm making dinner for the three of us."

"Three?" you ask, perplexed.

It's amazing how completely a voice can change. With his next words, Karl goes from giddy to sultry, "Bruce is coming by to play this weekend."

You almost can't believe it.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he answers.

You lick your lips, a habit that Karl always teases you for since he swears you picked it up from hanging around Chris too much.

"Alright. I'll pick up a new bottle of bourbon on the way home this afternoon."

"Sounds perfect. I'll see you later, baby."

Once off the phone you turn back to breakfast, though you're suddenly not hungry. A few minutes ago you were wondering how long it would be before you snapped and killed someone today, now all you can think about is tonight. Karl's always been nothing if not ridiculously distracting.

***

You finish for the day a little later than you were expecting and you head home in a complete rush. You're careful not to forget the bourbon though, Karl's favorite brand.

When you reach your house, there's a car already in your driveway. You assume its Karl's rental and enter the house, stomach flipping with excitement and anticipation.

"Hello?" you call into the house as you shut the door behind you. There's no answer.

You're instantly engulfed in the scent of spices and meat roasting and there's a clatter of bowls and pans in the kitchen undercut by the sound of running water and soft singing.

You kick off your shoes and dump your bag and the liquor bottle onto the table in the foyer before heading in to inspect.

Karl's back is to you as he scrubs what looks like the last dirty dish in the house. He's alternating between singing and humming Sinatra. And he's most definitely wearing your apron.

"You'll always be near as though you were here by my side..."

You grin.

"What would your fans do if they knew what a big softy Bones is in real life, standing in my kitchen, in my apron, doing my dishes and making me dinner all while singing a schmoopy love song?" You ask quietly.

He turns, startled, and grins.

"Hey! I didn't hear you come home," he explains, turning the water off and wiping his hands. "And I think they would tell you you're clearly a Trek poser since it's open knowledge that Bones is a big softy. In fake and real life. Plus, Sinatra's not schmoopy."

"My mistake," you mock concede with a nod of your head, smiling.

"Come here," he growls before lunging at you and pulling you into his arms.

You embrace him enthusiastically in return.

"It's been too long since I was here last," Karl murmurs.

"Yes it has," you sigh in return.

"I'll never leave again," he swears causing you to laugh uproariously.

"Yes you will!"

He pushes you back, holding you at arm's length so he can look you in the eye. He's smirking.

"Okay, so I will," he leans in to kiss you and whispers against your lips, "But I won't be gone this long ever again."

He cuts off any reply by pressing his mouth to yours. You squeeze him more tightly to you in response.

"I'm going to hold you to that promise, you know," you tell him when he releases your mouth.

"I certainly hope so," he answers sincerely.

It's overwhelming. When you met one another all those months earlier, when you were still trying to piece together some kind of direction for your life and Karl was trying to redirect his following his divorce, you never imagined this would be where you'd end up. You certainly never imagined he'd want you as much as you want him. Sometimes life's surprises are actually pleasant though.

You kiss him softly before asking, "What're you cooking for dinner?"

His soft, sappy expression leaves his face and he takes on his cool and cocky chef persona. He knows it always makes you laugh, which is why he always does it.

"Well, Mademoiselle," he adopts a phony French accent for added effect, "We're having a spring mix salad with a homemade vinaigrette. A lovely, spice-seared lamb shank for dinner, roasted with fingerling potatoes, pearl onions, and baby carrots. And some beautiful flourless chocolate torte with fresh raspberries for dessert."

As much as Karl's chef act always cracks you up, the list of foods he rattles off never fails to amaze you. And that list is extra amazing tonight.

"Wow..."

"I know. I aim to impress." He winks.

You laugh, "And you're very good at impressing... though lamb is kind of stereotypical for you."

"Watch yourself," he warns, quirking an eyebrow and raising a finger.

"What?" you shrug, "Aren't you practically part lamb?"

"That's it," He unties the apron and throws it to the ground, either as some kind of challenge or to simply add to the dramatic effect. "You're going to pay for that. You've insulted your last Kiwi, baby."

You let out a yelp as he scoops you into his arms and into the living room.

"Oh my God, shouldn't you watch dinner?" you yelp.

"There's a timer," he growls before unceremoniously depositing you on the couch.

"Hey!" you yell.

He kisses you roughly, cutting off any other protests.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Bruce!" you exclaim when you manage to push Karl back enough to see over his shoulder.

"I let myself in." Bruce watches, amused, while Karl ignores you both and bites your chin.

"Karl!" you laugh, hitting his shoulder. "Stop being so rude!"

He pulls back enough to quirk an eyebrow at you. "Rude, huh? I'll remember that later."

He finally moves off of you and sits back against the opposite end of the couch before standing to greet Bruce.

"Hey, Bruce," Karl grins, offering his hand. They do one of those handshake-into-a-hug things that men do, giving you enough time to stand and straighten yourself out before Bruce is ready to greet you.

"Hey!" Bruce's grin turns into a smile as he approaches and hugs you. He kisses your cheek before stepping back.

"Hey." You reach for his hand and squeeze it in your own, not letting go. "You know, Karl lives across the world half the year. But you, you only live across town, really. I should see more of you than I do."

Bruce nods apologetically.

"You're right."

"We're not so good at this keeping in touch thing, you and I," you continue. "I dare you to do better."

"Cute." Bruce laughs, turning toward Karl and asking, "Where did you get her from again?"

"Some dive bar," Karl explains, acting scandalized, "I must've been drinking something potent. That's the only explanation I can come up with."

The oven timer goes off at the same time you slap Karl's arm.

"Saved by the bell. You're so lucky right now, Urban," you practically swear his name.

He just winks, easily dodging another slap from you.

"Come on," he calls to Bruce and you as he retreats into the kitchen, "Dinner's ready."

Bruce just shrugs and you both follow.

***

Dinner is a slow progression of companionable conversation, compliments to the chef, and half-threats when the chef gets too conceited: Banter at its finest. It always intrigues you that somewhere, amongst all the catching up and silliness, the evening turns from a catch-up session amongst friends into the game you're really all there to play.

That's how it's always started: a slow slide from light-hearted chatter into almost silent role-playing. At some point Bruce starts pouring your water, when you had been pouring his earlier in the night. He takes charge of the table and you in the way he speaks and the way his hand takes up residence on your wrist. Karl shifts from his goofy behavior too, becoming serious as his hand on the back of your neck begins firmly stroking your nape. And you, you become the person they both want to possess. More importantly, you become the person who wants to be possessed.

When the meal is over, you're ushered into the living room for silent drinks and bittersweet, lazy blues music. Bruce accompanies the stereo while you watch his hands cradle and work the strings of his mini-acoustic, fascinated by his dexterity and more than a little turned on by it, and Karl sits back watching you, as he slowly sips his bourbon.

"You like what you see?" Karl always asks, causing you to gasp softly. This is when the game officially starts.

"Yes," you sigh, eyes remaining focused on Bruce's hands.

"Yes, what?" Bruce's voice sounds like the soft warning rumble of thunder.

You shiver, effortlessly slipping into your role for the night. "Yes, _sirs_."

That's when Karl places his half-full tumbler on the coffee table and stands up.

Likewise, Bruce strums one last chord and gently deposits the guitar in its case beside the chair he's occupying before standing as well. He offers you his hand, pulling you to your feet, and remains close behind you, his hand brushing the small of your back, as you both follow Karl into the bedroom.

You've done this with them dozens of times by now, but you're always surprised every time it happens. Grateful really, that they want to play more.

When you reach the bedroom, Karl stares at you some more. Sometimes, miraculously, you manage to stay stock-still, but usually, like tonight, you fidget under the intensity of his gaze until Bruce steps up behind you and halts your movements with the warm press of his body.

"Stand still," Bruce commands, voice impossibly deep and echoing against your ear. You settle instantly.

Karl steps forward, still studying you, and begins removing your clothing. He's slow and careful. Methodical. Bruce's hands follow in the wake of retreating fabric; calloused fingers caressing your newly exposed skin reassuringly.

"Such a good girl," Bruce's praise rumbles against your neck, his nose pressed into your flesh. His lips and breath ghost across your sensitive skin, uncoiling warm tendrils of pleasure that reach all the way down your spine to where his hands rest, caressing and squeezing your waist and hip.

Your eyes flutter shut.

Karl is kneeling before you now, preparing to remove the last of your clothing. You can feel him rub his cheek against your thigh, hear him take a long, deep breath.

"Are we making you wet, baby?" His voice is low, though never as low as Bruce's, and it's smooth in a way Bruce's could never be.

You whimper a soft "yes, sir" and Karl drags what's left of your clothing off.

You open your eyes again in time to glimpse Karl holding up your damp underwear for Bruce to see.

Bruce "tsks," though you can feel his lips spread into a grin as he nuzzles his face against your bare shoulder.

"Such a dirty girl," he growls.

You choke out a soft moan.

Karl discards the underwear and runs his hands up your legs to your thighs.

"Please," you gasp.

"Eh!" Karl chides, slapping the side of your thigh sharply, making your skin burn deliciously. "You know the rules."

"Sorry, sir."

Another slap to the thigh, this time from Bruce. This one causes you to flinch, though you silently revel in the pleasant ache.

"Don't apologize," Bruce corrects you, lips suddenly against your ear again, as he tightens his grip on your hips.

You correct yourself. "Please, sir!"

Karl rubs soothing circles across your tingling, abused flesh.

"Please, what?"

"Please, touch me, sir," you whine.

"I am touching you, love."

"Sir, please..." You sob.

"Tell him," Bruce commands against your jaw.

"Sir... I want your fingers inside me!"

You can feel yourself blush. You've never been very good at asking for them to touch you, which is why they started making you ask in the first place.

Karl rewards your efforts and slides one of his hands from your thigh up between your legs. He slips his cool fingers along your wet entrance and you shiver, melting back into Bruce's chest.

Bruce slides a hand from your hip, scratching blunt fingernails across your stomach, giving you goosebumps. He flattens his palm against your abdomen and holds you carefully but firmly against his supportive frame as Karl goes from lazily sliding his fingers around your entrance to swiftly thrusting them up into your body.

"Oh God!" you yelp, eyes losing focus as you try to watch Bruce's hand spread across your stomach and Karl's focused expression as he begins working you open. You're never allowed to touch them when they first start, but you can't stop yourself any longer. Your hands, which have been balled up fists at your sides, shoot back to grip the denim covering Bruce's thighs.

Karl looks up at you and you tremble, suddenly dizzy.

He slows his fingers and licks his lips, teasing, eliciting a whine from deep in your throat.

"What do you want?" Bruce asks you.

"I want Karl to suck my clit," you force the words out, forgetting the "sir," though no one seems to notice.

Karl's eyes fall shut in response to his name and he leans in closer to you. Bruce wordlessly slides his hand down your body and spreads you open with his fingers as way of instruction for Karl. Karl gladly complies, dragging his tongue over your clit.

Karl begins finger-fucking you harder as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks.

"Oh fuck!" Your gasping turns to screams as you press your head back into Bruce's shoulder.

"That feel good, baby?" Bruce breathes the question out between soft nips along your neck. Karl resumes swirling his tongue and his fingers pick up speed inside you.

"Yes... God, yes."

Bruce flicks his tongue across your earlobe before sucking on it at the same moment Karl sucks on your clit again.

Bruce hums soothingly before whispering, "If you come all over Karl's fingers, I'll hold you down on the bed and fuck you."

"Oh God," you whimper, feeling your abdomen tighten.

"If you're good and loud when you come, Karl will let you suck his cock," Bruce continues. "If you're _really_ good and loud, he'll let you swallow."

Karl hums, having heard Bruce's quiet promise, and the vibrations send you over the edge. Your eyes slide shut as you shout both their names in a hoarse bark. You convulse around Karl's fingers, shuddering in both of their arms.

When you manage to open your eyes once again, lids heavy, Karl is standing in front of you, licking his fingers clean before leaning in to kiss you. You taste yourself and bourbon and something uniquely Karl as he licks his way into your mouth, pressing his body flush against yours, crushing you to Bruce's chest.

You can feel Bruce's growl, deep in his chest, before you hear it.

"Enough," he declares and Karl actually steps back almost blushing.

"Sorry."

"No apologies," you tell Karl, grinning.

Karl grins back at you.

"If you're done being cheeky," Bruce hisses against your temple, still holding you up with his body, "I believe we haven't finished yet."

You sigh, snuggling back against him, "Yes, sir."

Bruce nods and though you can't see his smile, you can imagine it, "Good."

He guides you to the edge of the bed and maneuvers you around so you can sit.

"Lay right where you are. Don't move any further onto the bed," Bruce orders.

You do as you're told, collapsing back on the bed. You can't see what Karl and Bruce are doing. You can't see anything but the ceiling actually, but you can hear their zippers being undone and fabric rustling as they strip. Then Bruce is leaning over you, naked and hard.

"Hey, baby," he smirks down at you.

You lazily smile and his face softens. He reaches a hand out to your cheek and caresses it with the backs of his fingers.

"Sleepy, huh?" he mumbles before kissing you softly.

"Yeah," you mumble back.

Bruce enters you slowly, still standing, thighs pressed against the edge of the mattress between your dangling legs, and you sigh his name before wrapping your legs and arms around him. He slides his arms around you in turn, cradling you up off the bed slightly. You feel him go still once he's fully inside you and he kisses your temple.

When he starts moving, you let out a soft approving rumble from deep in the back of your throat. You're too tired to tease or beg him with your words. You're too tired to even keep your eyes open any longer. All you can manage are broken moans and gasps.

"Karl," Bruce calls.

Karl's answer comes from somewhere across the room, "I just want to watch."

"You sure?" Bruce manages to gasp between deep, languid thrusts.

You arch your back, changing the angle of his thrusts and your eyes open as you release a high-pitched whimper.

You hear Karl moan without answering Bruce's question, his breathing labored as he no doubt strokes himself while he watches.

"Just you and me then, baby," Bruce whispers against your jaw and you tighten your arms around him, arching your back again and rubbing your nipples against the coarse, silver hairs on his chest.

"That feel good?" he asks, breathless and you tighten your legs around his waist.

Bruce licks a trail of sweat off your neck.

"Keep talking," Karl demands.

You can feel Bruce smirk against your jaw in response, but he remains silent.

"She needs you to keep talking," Karl barks now, panting.

"Is that right?" Bruce asks before nipping your jaw "Do you need me to keep talking, baby? Hmm?"

The vibrations from his voice seem to dislodge a few lazy, incoherent words and your fingers dig deeper into his back.

Bruce slowly accelerates his pace as he continues speaking.

"Do you like the sound of my voice? Is that what's making you so wet right now? You're so tight. Fuck, you feel perfect. I don't know how I'm still going..."

"Jesus Christ," Karl groans in the background causing you to moan even louder and shut your eyes again.

"You like hearing Karl, don't you? You like having an audience. I can feel it whenever he speaks. Whenever he reminds you he's sitting right there while I fuck you."

You're overcome by the sound of Karl's heavy breathing mixing with Bruce's and yours. You can't tell where one ends and the other begins. They're all blurred together in your barely awake mind.

"Please." You're not aware that the word actually came from you, until you hear Bruce let out a deep growl and Karl another moan.

"Please, what?" Bruce asks, breathless.

"Close," you gasp, writhing in his arms. You feel as if you could lose consciousness any second, your senses are so overwhelmed, your nerves tingling all across your body.

He thrusts into you faster and harder.

"So close. Gonna come so hard, baby."

Karl lets out a strangled shout as he finishes across the room and it sends you over the edge, wordlessly screaming. Bruce pounds into you erratically as you spasm around him and he's quick to follow with his own yell and release. You can feel him pulsing deep within you, and then you can't feel anything.

***

"Baby."

You fight to open your eyes.

The room's too bright and it takes you a minute to adjust before you can see both Bruce and Karl's faces looking down at you.

"Hey," you whisper, voice hoarse and broken.

Karl props you up, giving you a sip of water.

"You alright?" Bruce asks. His fingers rub circles on your stomach. Karl's stroking your face. The game is officially over for the night, though you all started to slip out of it some place in the middle.

"I'm perfect," you sigh, lips spreading into sloppy grin.

Bruce mirrors it with his own mouth. "Good. We thought we may have lost you for a moment there."

You chuckle before asking, "How long was I out for?"

"About ten minutes," Karl answers, stroking your hair. He's trying for nonchalance, but his voice betrays how concerned he actually is.

"Oh my God," you exclaim, eyes going wide, "That's a new record!"

"Did I hurt you when we were..." Bruce looks more concerned than you've ever seen him look before.

"No!" You answer quickly. "Never! At least, in no way that was unintentional or unwanted."

"You're sure?" Karl prods, skeptical.

You laugh breathlessly.

"Bruce is the one who's going to have bruises all over his back in the morning. Seriously," you promise, "I'm completely blissed out. Utterly exhausted. Best night I've had in months, I swear. You should both stop freaking out, pull the covers over us, and cuddle me now so I can, ya know, sleep and we can do this again tomorrow. Preferably after Karl's famous pancakes."

Both men smile, looking distinctly relieved, before following your instructions; pulling up the blankets and snuggling against you and around you from opposite sides.

You hum your approval, nuzzling against the both of them in turn, kissing them each softly.

You love playing these games and giving up your control to them. It's releasing and relaxing in a way nothing else in your life has ever been. It makes ending the game that much more enjoyable, as you reclaim your control over yourself and them.


End file.
